


double

by YouAreMyDesign



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Plug, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Come Marking, Daddy Kink, Dom Will Graham, Established Relationship, Facials, Gentle Dom Will Graham, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Scent Kink, Sub Hannibal Lecter, Sugar Daddy, Top Will Graham, Will Graham is a Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22554139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouAreMyDesign/pseuds/YouAreMyDesign
Summary: It took a long time before Will grew from actively fighting these gifts, to resigned acceptance, to eager anticipation. It's just one of those things that comes with dating Hannibal Lecter; gifts are a given. And Hannibal, he soon realized, loves seeing Will in things he's bought.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 21
Kudos: 449
Collections: Wendigo & Stag





	double

Will should be used to this kind of thing by now. Hannibal has money, a nauseating amount, and for all his whims and forays to social events befitting a man of high society, he's smart with his assets. Accounts generate more interest income alone than the sum of one of Will's paychecks, and that's only the ones he has access to in America.

So Hannibal has money. And, with a vacuum of places in which to spend it, he chooses to lavish Will with gifts. Some of them purely functional; new collars for his dogs or oil for his gun, or a coupon to gun range sessions so he doesn't have to deal with Jack or Beverly or some other well-meaning but aggravating presence breathing down his back. Sometimes it's overnight trips to some hideaway where they can spend the night together devoid of responsibilities.

Sometimes it's things like this.

The sweater is so soft it almost doesn't feel real, a baby blue cashmere that Will knows Hannibal chose to compliment his eyes. He loves blues on Will, and greens, and the soft color of the innards of raw meat. Will knows it'll be a perfect fit for him because Hannibal knows his measurements, probably had it custom-tailored already to pull in at his waist and hug his shoulders.

It took a long time before Will grew from actively fighting these gifts, to resigned acceptance, to eager anticipation. It's just one of those things that comes with dating Hannibal Lecter; gifts are a given. And Hannibal, he soon realized, loves seeing Will in things he's bought. Like Will's watch he can't bring himself to wear every day, but will get out for special occasions or nights on the town. Or the series of soft leather belts in brown and black that Will has put to the test more than once around Hannibal's throat. Or the car sitting in the parking space outside right next to Hannibal's that he purchased when Will's own finally gave up its twenty-year-old ghost.

He curls his fingers in the fabric, mindful of wrinkling it. It came in a canary yellow garment box, lined on the inside with sky-blue and teal tissue paper. He looks up.

To call Hannibal nervous about how his gifts are received isn't quite right. Yes, he hungers for Will's approval, there's always that soft gleam of pride and anticipation in his eyes like a birddog that's been taken out to hunt, knowing that soon he will be put through the motions of helping his master catch their quarry.

He is not nervous. No, but his fingers flex and tap together at his sides, his breathing is just a little too even, forcing himself not to react until he hears Will's verdict. If Will didn't like his gift – and he can count on one hand the times that's happened – then Will need merely say so. He can say he doesn't like the color, or he doesn't need another sweater, or claim the fabric makes his fingers feel strange. And Hannibal will take it on the chin with grace, ask how it can be improved, and fetch a replacement, or return it without a word, his mental gauges recalibrated to suit Will's tastes.

Will smiles, lets his voice grow soft, his hands flattening the sweater down and petting along the hem. "I love it," he says, and watches with pleasure as Hannibal's shoulders lower just a fraction, his breath catches, his tongue wets his lower lip with an excess of saliva. "Thank you."

Hannibal's throat bobs in a swallow. "Would you like to try it on?" he murmurs.

Will hears it as though it was a desperate plea; _Try it on, darling. Please._

Will stands, pulling the sweater from the box and setting it to one side. He's only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, for the weather is growing warm and Hannibal always keeps the temperature pleasant inside his home. Hannibal gravitates closer, a single step that aches like the grind of a rockslide. Will doesn't meet his eyes, relishing how the air grows charged and thick, clings to his skin and the back of his neck like a loving hand.

He turns, and places the sweater into Hannibal's hands. Immediately, Hannibal gathers the sleeves and widens the neck, careful not to stretch it, just enough that Will can put his head through. He ducks down, his hands finding the arm holes, and lets Hannibal drape it up his arms, over his head, and settles the sweater on his shoulders like he might wrap Will in a warm robe, or wrap Will in his arms.

Will's theory proves true; the sweater clings to his hips and waist, tight but not uncomfortable, no static causing his skin to shiver and the hairs on his arms to rise. Hannibal tugs the sleeves down, reverent, eyes near-black as he admires the cut and fall of the garment. The touch of his fingers to where Will's pulse is racing in his wrists makes Will's breath catch.

He meets Hannibal's eyes, gives him just a taste, a tease, and steps back with a smile. "How do I look?" he asks, but he knows how he looks, because Hannibal has impeccable taste in clothes and has never gone wrong in this regard.

Hannibal swallows, and gives him a look that makes Will think of a hungry animal. "Beautiful," he breathes.

Will smiles. The blush isn't forced at all, but he lets himself get a little more breathy, a little more wanton, because Hannibal likes it when he makes his voice like that. "It feels good," he says, rubbing his thumb at the hem of the sweater. Tugs, just a little, and watches it spring back into shape around his hips.

"It comes in twelve other colors," Hannibal tells him, and Will laughs, grinning wide and seeing several others just like this one stacked in his closet in the near future.

"Daddy," he scolds, teasing, watching with pleasure as Hannibal's eyes blacken further, his nostrils flare as he sucks in a breath. He steps close, right up into Will's space, fingers dug beneath the hem of the sweater so he can grip Will's hips where his jeans hang low, can nuzzle Will's flushed cheek and steal a kiss from his smiling mouth. Will shivers, blinks slow like a sunning cat, surrendering to Hannibal's kiss with another soft, sweet sigh.

They pull apart when Hannibal needs air, Will's lips clinging, chapped and dry, to Hannibal's. "I want it in cream, too," he says, and Hannibal's entire body trembles as he nods, kneading Will's hips like a plaintive kitten. Will rakes his fingers slowly through Hannibal's hair, leans in and up and kisses Hannibal's racing pulse. "And dark green."

"Of course, darling," Hannibal whispers.

Will smiles, and pulls away from him, feels it in his own chest when Hannibal looks at him like Will put a knife to his throat. Will loves it when Hannibal looks at him like that, like he'd sooner spear himself on his own desire than let Will go for even an instant.

Will peels the sweater slowly back over his head, lets it sag and fall at his elbows, pulls it off his wrists and folds it carefully, inside-out, and places it back in the box. Hannibal's jaw clenches, bulging at the corner, at once wary of Will's rejection of this particular fabric, this particular color.

"I really like it, daddy," Will says, feeling merciful for now. He tucks his fingers along Hannibal's inner elbow, drags them up like he might scratch an itch, gentle, slowly, until his fingertips touch Hannibal's chin. "You're so good to me."

"Will." His name comes out as little more than a whisper. It almost hurts to hear it, so tender and soft like the cashmere, sending flares of answering oversensitivity up Will's hands, making his fingers twitch. He has so often thought of his empathy as a burden rather than a blessing, but that's just another one of Hannibal's gifts; Will can see him, and feel his hunger, and it makes him feel alive.

"I don't want to get it dirty," Will tells him; a soft promise that makes Hannibal's breath catch. Will smiles, and leans in to tease another brief and chaste kiss to Hannibal's lips. "You wanna come upstairs with me?"

Hannibal nods, and Will's smile widens, grows perhaps a little meaner than he intended to make it. But that's perfectly alright; Hannibal likes it when he's mean as much as when he's gentle and sweet and kind.

Hannibal follows Will like he's being led on a leash, his façade of decorum splintering with every step they take, down the hall, up the stairs, towards his bedroom. Every inch brings more of that monster to the surface, the gluttonous and rabid beast that Hannibal tries to calm and control every moment of the day.

Will brings him in and closes the door behind them, leads Hannibal to the center of the room and then releases him, sitting on the bed with a heavy sigh. He leans back on his hands, fingers curling in the duvet cover that is, again, a color blue that Hannibal has mentioned more than once compliments Will's eyes.

Hannibal stands in front of him, clearly desperate to close the distance again. "Take off your clothes," Will commands.

Even with animal desire clouding his eyes, Hannibal is no more careless with his own clothes than he is with Will's gifts. Oh, yes, there have certainly been nights when seams have ripped and buttons were sent flying, when teeth and claws where the only way they could touch each other, when bruises and red, raw bites were the gifts they gave to each other. But Will initiates those. Hannibal is playing tonight.

The suit jacket and the vest are folded and placed on the top of his dresser. Without their barriers, Will can see how tight his shirt clings, like he grows in size every time Will looks at him. Posturing, huge, a peacock spreading his tail wide for the perusal of a female. His suit pants don't do anything to hide the growing bulge between his legs.

Will wets his lips, and forces himself not to move.

Hannibal's fingers are steady and sure as they remove his shirt, deft and quick in undoing the buttons. He shrugs it off, lets it fall to his wrists and carefully tugs his hands free. It reveals the flush on his chest, that must have been there for quite some time, given how dark and large the stain is. Will's teeth feel too sharp, wanting to bite it and let the blood free. He curls his fingers tighter, indulging himself for a moment in a fantasy of putting Hannibal on his back, rubbing his cheek across the hair on his chest, of pushing his pectoral muscles together and fucking the valley until he makes a mess all through the silver, soft pelt. Letting his come drip down the rise of his stomach, to the cut of his hips. Painting his fingers with it and making Hannibal lick them clean.

The shuffle of Hannibal's suit pants brings his attention back. Hannibal has taken his shoes off already, in Will's distraction, and they sit, tucked neatly at the foot of his dresser, socks balled up within. He slides his pants down to his ankles and steps out of them, folding them down the crease in the leg, then again in half, and setting them atop his shirt.

Will sits forward, the movement enough to get Hannibal to go still. "Are you wearing your plug, daddy?" he asks, smiles wide and lopsided. Sees Hannibal's gaze dart between his dimples, to his canines, to his hair, and finally his eyes.

"Yes, darling," he replies, voice hoarse.

Will's breath escapes him in a hum of pleasure. "All day?" he asks.

To that, Hannibal nods.

Will sighs. Hannibal left for work early this morning, breakfast keeping warm in the oven at a low temperature and a promise to Will that he would be coming home in the afternoon. He thinks of Hannibal working himself open in the shower, sliding the plug in to keep himself wet and ready for Will. Thinks of him buying Will's present with it inside him.

"Fuck, daddy, that sure was nice of you," he says, letting his voice go slack and drawling. Hannibal likes bringing out the Southern boy in Will. Hannibal's lashes flutter, a shiver runs through him, tension in his belly and thighs more of a giveaway than if he'd fallen to his knees and begged for Will's cock.

Will stands, comes close, runs his fingers feather-light on the hem of Hannibal's underwear. "Show me?" he asks, saccharine and soft. "Over the bed?"

Hannibal's exhale is like a charging bull. He turns and nudges their noses together, and Will smiles, and rewards him with a kiss. He pulls away, giving Hannibal room to approach the bed, to push down his underwear until it pools around his ankles, revealing his ass, the tops of his thighs, a little paler than the rest of him.

And, of course, the base of the plug. It's wide and round and made of steel. Will knows it's heavy. It's one of the only gifts Will has outright rejected before – he has no desire to wear something like that. If he's going to be fucked and filled, it's going to be with a real cock, or fingers. Something warm. A piece of a living person he can watch and soak up and react to.

But Hannibal. Well. He is a gluttonous thing.

Will steps up close to him and kneels, gently guiding him to lift one foot, then the other, so that he can free his ankles from his underwear. He straightens, smiling at the large stain of precum darkening the inside of the front of Hannibal's underwear. He balls it up so the stain is showing and breathes in, deeply, his mouth watering at the scent.

"You're so dirty, daddy," he teases, setting his prize down. His other hand flattens wide between Hannibal's thighs, teasing at his balls, his perineum which is just beginning to grow damp with sweat. Hannibal moans at the touch, back arching, shoulders falling lax and wide. His hands reach up in front of him, bracing himself. "Buying me things gets you so excited, doesn't it? I bet you'd let me fuck you right in the middle of the store if I wanted to."

He slides his hand up, nudges the base of the plug, eyes closing as he basks in the soft, ragged growl Hannibal answers him with. He taps Hannibal's thighs, coaxing them to spread a little wider, so Will can see his cock, hard and red and leaking against the bedspread.

"Maybe I will," he muses, more for the fantasy of it than any real desire to. Sex is intimate, for him, and Hannibal makes him feel so raw, he doesn't want to share that with anyone else. "When you get me those other sweaters. We'll go into a changing room and I'll put you on your knees to keep my cock warm while I try things on."

Hannibal moans, loud and long, turning his head so Will can see his flushed cheeks. Will smiles, leaning down to kiss his shoulder, cupping Hannibal's warm neck with his free hand as he grips the base of the plug, teases it in a broad, slow circle that makes Hannibal shiver and rise to his toes.

He pushes it in, deeper, angles it down to drag along Hannibal's prostate, presses his thumb to Hannibal's perineum to give him the most pressure he can. Hannibal trembles beneath him, hips twitching in subtle little flexes, chasing his pleasure.

"Don't come until I say so," Will commands him, lips at his ear. The sound Hannibal makes could keep him well-fed for days. He keeps working the plug until Hannibal's thighs tense in earnest, his breaths punched out of him in wild little gasps. Will tightens his hand around Hannibal's neck.

He puts his nose to Hannibal's hair, bites at the ends of it and sucks the salt of his sweat from his nape. A low, steady pulse of heat has been growing in his stomach since he heard Hannibal come home, and now it has fangs, and claws. Hannibal makes him feel cruel, reveling in the power dynamic, the implicit turned on its head.

Hannibal might have more money, might dress Will up and take him out, but Will owns this man, to his bones, and Hannibal doesn't do anything without his permission, even something as simple and primal as letting pleasure take him.

He shivers, biting his lower lip. "You want me to fuck you, daddy?"

Hannibal _whines_ , and the sound goes straight to Will's cock. He reaches back, pawing at Will's hip, dragging him closer. "Yes," he gasps. "Please, darling."

Hearing Hannibal beg might be the best gift of them all.

Will straightens, releasing him. "Stand up," he commands, excitement making his words snap like a whip strike. Hannibal obeys, a little more sluggishly than he normally moves. He turns as Will steps back to give him room, reaches for him and uses Will as a support to get himself to his feet.

Will smiles, and holds his arms up. Hannibal meets his gaze, an adoring smile on his lips, softening all of his features. He pulls Will's shirt up and over his head, folds it, and sets it down atop the ball of his underwear Will left.

Then, pressed close as atria and ventricle, he kisses Will, deft and capable fingers unbuttoning and unzipping Will's jeans, pulling the halves apart. He sinks to his knees as he pulls Will's jeans and underwear off in the same motion and Will sighs, palming his cheek, lashes fluttering as Hannibal mouths at the shaft of his cock and holds Will's clothes steady as he steps out of them.

Will pulls him upright before Hannibal can fold them. He doesn't want to wait any longer. He pushes Hannibal onto his back, steps between his spread thighs and lifts one of them onto his shoulder, baring his hole, still plugged up. His rim is a dark pink and shines with lubricant, and Will shivers, tongue pressed tight to the back of his teeth as he grips the base and slowly eases it out.

The plug itself is relatively short, shines with lubricant, and has a wide bulb to keep it locked in, the rest of it tapered to a forgiving, blunt curve. He sets it down on his shirt, and pushes his fingers inside, testing. For all his impatience, and all their shared passion, he doesn't want Hannibal in any discomfort, not when he's getting a reward for such a lovely present.

He widens his stance, pushes his feet back so he's on his toes, braced on the floor. Leans down, Hannibal wrapping his legs around Will's waist, angled up perfectly so that Will can remove his fingers, grip his cock, and slide home inside him.

" _Fuck_ ," he snarls. Hannibal swallows the word, answers it with a quiet moan. He wraps a hand in Will's hair, his other flattening warm and wide on Will's ribs to help him stay upright. Will braces himself on the bed, hands on either side of Hannibal's body.

The first proper thrust makes the bed creak and Will collapses to his elbows, his chest rubbing against Hannibal's, Hannibal's cock trapped between their stomachs. He snaps his teeth together near Hannibal's ear and buries another curse to his neck, fucking in again, and again, building a brutal rhythm that makes Hannibal seize up beneath him.

Will paws at his hip, tilts him up in the way he knows from experience Hannibal likes best in this position, where Will's cock can get deep and ruts against his prostate with every thrust. "You feel so good, daddy," Will moans, smiling as Hannibal tenses and shivers beneath him. Hannibal's heels dig into Will's ass, urging him on, harder, faster.

"I think from now on you should buy me two of any clothing," Will adds, breathless, but knowing he has Hannibal in his jaws now. "One for me to wear, the other for me to fuck you in, get all dirty."

He can picture it already; Hannibal bare for him, Will in nothing but that nice sweater, Hannibal's cock rutting against it and getting it all wrinkled and soaked. Hannibal's eyes flash, his lips parting in a near-soundless gasp. Will kisses air into his lungs, tugs on his hair, braces himself on Hannibal's stomach as his thrusts grow short and tight.

"I want you to come now, daddy," Will purrs. Hannibal's entire body seizes in answer. "And when I'm done with you I'm gonna go get that sweater and clean up your mess with it."

" _Will_." It's all he manages to choke out before he's coming, nails in Will's shoulder and fist tight in his hair as he goes utterly still, expression tight as it gets before the inevitable release. Will slows, so he can watch, breathing hard and admiring how Hannibal's thick cock twitches with every spurt of warm come that spills over his belly. Up, higher, into his chest hair too. Will smiles wide, showing his teeth, growling at the feeling of Hannibal's muscles locked up tight around him.

When Hannibal is done, every muscle in him goes utterly lax, and Will pulls out with a grunt, climbing up on the bed and straddling Hannibal's chest. He fists a hand in his hair, lifting his head, and strokes his cock tightly, head tilted back and eyes closing as he comes all over Hannibal's face and chest. He shoves his cockhead between Hannibal's parted lips to give him a final taste, moaning with satisfaction as Hannibal licks him clean.

He sighs, gentling now, and pets Hannibal's hair in apology and praise. He pulls back, runs his softening cock through the mess he made, humming in pleasure at the aftershocks fissuring their way up his spine.

Hannibal stares at him, black-eyed and red-cheeked, strings of Will's come clinging to his skin, across the bridge of his nose, around his tender mouth, dripping down his neck. There's a single line of it on his forehead, streaked up into his hair, and Will leans down and licks it away.

"Stay right here," he orders, drawling the words. "I'll get you cleaned up."

Hannibal nods, breath leaving him in a shaky sigh. He clearly needs to be kissed, so Will does, cupping Hannibal's neck and kissing him long and slow and deep. Hannibal's fingers wrap around his wrist, thumb brushing tenderly along Will's pulse, and Will sighs, overwhelmed with affection. Both from Hannibal, and from himself.

"I'll be right back, daddy," he promises.

Hannibal smiles, and nods. Will can't help kissing him again, smearing his come between their noses and mouths. But that's alright. Will likes the scent of him clinging to Hannibal's skin. He rises, and moves from the bed, stretching with another sated sigh. He can feel Hannibal's eyes burning into his back as he leaves the room and fetches the sweater from downstairs.

"You'll just have to get me another one," he says with a teasing smile, watching how Hannibal shivers and bites his lower lip. Even with his recent orgasm, his cock twitches at the notion, and again as Will unfolds the beautiful garment and dirties it with their come, wiping him clean.

"Whatever you desire, darling," he rasps.

Will grins. "And two cream. And two green," he adds.

Hannibal swallows harshly, closing his eyes as Will leans up to clean his face. "Of course."


End file.
